For Better or Worse (15 page)

Chapter Sixteen

H
EATHER HAD EXACTLY ONE
plan for Thanksgiving:

Sleeping in.

She'd even bought a sleeping mask for the occasion. A fuzzy leopard-print affair to block out the morning light so that she could finally—
finally
—catch up on some sleep.

The sleep mask did an excellent job blocking out the sunlight.

It did not, however, stand a chance against a thirty­something male rummaging around in her closet.

At first Heather thought she was dreaming. Or hallucinating.

But a full minute after she'd shoved her mask up onto her forehead and blinked sleepily in the direction of the ruckus, it became painfully clear that this was no dream.

Josh Tanner was in her bedroom, rifling through her clothes like he owned the place.

What. The actual. Fuck.

“Seriously?” she managed, her voice still croaky with sleep.

He glanced over his shoulder with a cocky grin. “Morning, 4C. Aren't you pretty in the morning. And by pretty I mean your hair is
enormous
.”

Heather sat up. “How did you get in here?”

“Key,” he said simply, as though it were obvious, turning his attention back to her closet and pulling out a blue-and-white-striped dress. “Is this a tent?”

“What do you mean
key
?” she asked, lifting a hand to smooth her hair and then realizing it would be futile. She'd slept with it wet last night. His description of
enormous
was probably phrasing it politely.

“Mrs. Calvin had one made for me a while back.”

Of course.

“And I'm just learning about this now, because . . . ?” she asked.

He shot her another of those cocky grins. “Been saving it for a special occasion. Happy Thanks­giving, 4C.”

“Hang on,” she said, lifting a hand and frowning as the last remnants of her sleep fog drifted away. “You're talking to me now?”

“What do you mean?” he put the maxi dress back in the closet. Not where he'd found it, but in the very back corner, as though hoping she'd forget about its existence.

“Oh, I don't know, how about the fact that you've been giving me the silent treatment ever since I pried into your personal life last week? Hell, Josh, I haven't
even seen you in days.” Or at least not since that horribly awkward scene outside their apartments the other night, with Kitty and Trevor.

Heather knew that nothing had happened with her and Trevor. They'd talked, watched a movie. She'd fallen asleep, and when she'd woken up the next morning, he was gone.

But as far as what happened with Josh and Kitty, she didn't have a clue. And if the truth wasn't the one she wanted, she wasn't sure she needed to know.

“That's because I've been out of town,” he said, tossing a black sweater on the bed. “You should wear that.”

“Out of town where?”

“Nashville. To see my sister.”

“Since when do you have a sister?” she muttered, reaching for her hair band on the nightstand and pulling her hair into a knot on top of her head.

“Since always. Jamie.”

“Older? Younger?”

“Twin.”

Heather stared at him as he pulled out a pair of black pants and tossed them on top of the sweater. “Yup. Lives in Nashville. She couldn't come home for Thanksgiving because she's a hundred pounds pregnant, so I went down to visit her for a couple days.”

“Well, what about before that,” Heather said. “You were barely speaking to me.”

“I was brooding.”

“You mean sulking,” Heather corrected.

“No,
you
were sulking. I was brooding.”

“Why the distinction?”

He pointed at her breasts, then her crotch. “Tits. And, ah—”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Yes? What charming word for the female anatomy do you want to throw out there, big guy?”

Josh merely grinned. “Coffee's almost done. Get thy ass to the shower.”

“Um, why?”

“Because it's Thanksgiving. We're supposed to be at my parents' house in a couple hours, and I'm supposed to pick up some flowers for my mom's damn centerpiece on the way.”

“
We're
supposed to be at your parents' house?”

“Did you forget that I invited you?”

“No, I guess I just thought that what with the brooding and all that the invitation was off the table.”

“Quit being such a girl. You going to shower, or you want to go like that, all drooly and crazy haired?”

She lifted a hand to her cheek to wipe away any drool marks. “Are you sure about this?”

He pointed to her bathroom. “Go. Or I won't share any of the coffee I brought over.”

“I have my own coffee.”

“I know. Decent stuff. Mine's better.”

“Josh, I appreciate the offer, but I really don't think—”

He pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket. “No problem. Just give my mom a quick ring and tell her you're not coming. She's already set a place for you at the table and has been talking about it for days, but I'm sure she'll only cry a little—”

Heather groaned. “You're evil. Also, you're the one who screwed this up. Remember your whole beastly ‘I am man, I no talk' routine? You were a jerk, Josh.”

He surprised her by giving her a steady look, sliding his phone back into his back pocket. “I know. I'm sorry. Really. Let me make it up to you.”

“How?” she asked, with narrowed gaze.

“Well, okay, I didn't really have a plan beyond bringing you coffee,” he admitted with a sheepish grin.

Heather gave a fake-weary sigh. “Coffee'll do.”

“You're easy, Heather Fowler. Way too easy.”

“Says the guy who's never gotten near my lady bits.”

Heather meant the comment as a joke, but his gaze seemed to darken, and his eyes drifted downward slightly.

“Hey,” she said, holding up a warning finger. “Don't do that. I'm not becoming one of your women.”

“We'll see, 4C.”

Heather rolled her eyes and reached for the covers, then paused as she waited for him to leave. He didn't budge. He'd traded his usual Henley and jeans for a button-down dress shirt and slacks, and he looked good. Really good.

“Privacy, please?” she asked when he still hadn't moved.

He grinned. “I knew it. That tiny little tank top doesn't have any bottoms, does it?”

“I'm wearing underwear,” she muttered.

“Thong?”

She snorted, but actually, it
was
a thong. Not her favorite to sleep in, but she was a little behind in laundry. And she hadn't slept in pants or shorts since she'd gotten her own place after college.

“
Out
,” she ordered.

“Prude.” But he left, closing the door behind him.

Once he was gone, Heather couldn't hide the huge, happy smile as she flung back the covers and hopped out of bed.

She'd been surprised by how much she'd missed his presence in her life. And if he wanted to keep their friendship all flirty and on the surface, she could do that. Better than not being friends at all.

And hell, maybe if they got back to being friends, she'd stop having the naughty dreams about him that had been plaguing her sleep for weeks. Dreams of him pulling off her thong with his teeth, dreams of dragging her nails down his back as she lay pinned beneath him—

“Wow,” Heather muttered as she jerked open her dresser drawer. “So a
cold
shower then.”

“Why's that?”

Heather squeaked in surprise, and spun around, clutching her bra to her chest as she glared at her neighbor.

“Josh!”

He gave her a lazy grin and held out one of the two mugs in his hands. “Coffee?”

For two seconds, her modesty demanded she order him out, but . . . what the hell. He'd already gotten an eyeful of her ass, and she really did want the coffee.

She marched toward him and accepted the coffee, ignoring his smug smile. “For someone who complains about his mother's lack of boundaries, you're definitely crossing some of your own.”

“What can I say, a chip off the old block. Also, 4C, can we talk about your bra choice?” he asked, nodding to the bra in her hand.

“No,” she said, taking a sip of the still-too-hot coffee.

“Because I've got to tell you, if we're going to do the deed, I'd like to request something other than that light brown thing in your hand.” He wrinkled his nose. “It looks like something my grandma would wear.”

Heather choked on her coffee. “First of all, it's a nude bra, not light brown.”

“It's brown,” he said, sipping his own coffee.

“Second of all,” she continued, “where on earth did you get the idea that we were going to
do the deed
?”

He shrugged. “You were muttering about needing a cold shower, and I can assure you that scratching the itch is a better solution than trying to stifle it.”

“Gross.”

“Also,” he said, “I just saw your ass, and . . . well-done, 4C. From the day I met you, I knew you had sweet buns, and we just confirmed it.”

Heather laughed and put a hand on his chest, shoving him backward. “Out. For real this time.”

“Fine,” he called after she shut the door in his face. “But don't think I didn't notice that you just copped a feel of my pecs!”

She was still smiling by the time she got out of the shower and got dressed, purposefully wearing the nude bra just to spite him, even though he'd never know it, she reminded herself firmly.

The sweater he'd set out was one of her favorites, so she put that on, and then spent a little extra time with her makeup, just because it was a holiday and all.

“How much time do we have?” she called through the door as she added another coat of mascara.

“Dry your hair,” he called back. “I don't want you dying from exposure on me.”

She opened the door and found him sitting on her kitchen counter, flipping through something on his phone. “How'd you know that's why I was asking?”

“Twin sister, remember?” he asked, not glancing up from the screen.

“Yeah, about that,” she said, leaning a shoulder on the doorjamb of her bedroom door and studying him. “How is it that you've never mentioned Jamie?”

“We have time for you to dry your hair, not chitchat,” he said.

“Right. Heaven forbid we talk in between arguments.” She shut the door again, disappointed to be shut down, but not surprised.

Still, odd that he'd never mentioned a twin. It implied they weren't close, but then, he'd flown out to see her the week of Thanksgiving, when travel was a nightmare. They had to have at least a somewhat stable relationship.

Thirty minutes later, Heather's hair was mostly dry, courtesy of the expensive diffuser attachment on
her dryer that kept her curls from frizzing up (much), and Josh was standing at the front door holding out her coat and purse for her.

“I feel weird going to someone's house empty-handed,” she said, slipping her arms into the coat as he held it for her.

“We're not. Flowers, remember? Mom's also invited her neighbors
and
my dad's parents over, and even after thirty-four years of marriage, she's hell-bent on winning over my grandma. She's pretty sure the perfect centerpiece will do it.”

“And that has what to do with me?”

“Are you or are you not a wedding planner?”

“Sure, but I hire the florists. I'm not one myself,” she said as he all but shoved her out of her front door.

“You've got a leg up on me. I brought her yellow carnations last year when she'd invited her priest to dinner, and she nearly disowned me.”

“Yellow carnations? Jesus. It's a good thing you're pretty,” Heather said.

As it turned out, Josh wasn't
bad
at selecting flowers so much as disinterested, opting to flirt with the cute young assistant working the cash register as Heather talked shop with the owner.

Truth be told, Josh had been right. Heather was in her element, and she loved this. And if she was being even more honest, she was secretly thrilled to put her skills to use for someone who'd appreciate them.

Heather loved her mom to death. She really did. But she'd long given up showing off any of her skills when she went home. Her mom insisted that fake flowers were a better investment than real ones, that
she'd rather have her trusty Nutter Butters than the delicate macaroons that Heather had carefully carried onto the plane in lieu of carry-on luggage.

She knew her mother didn't mean to belittle Heather's career, but she'd be lying if she didn't secretly wish her mom got it. Just a little. Maybe was even a bit proud of her daughter for all that she'd accomplished.

Heather shook her head to rid herself of the negative energy invading her Zen as she carefully selected from the different buckets, putting together a fully formed arrangement that she admired as she twirled it around for effect. It was Thanksgiving, and she was going to be with a family. So what if it wasn't hers? It sure as hell beat tofurkey for one.